Happy Monday, folks!
Got a good one for you today. You’ll find the current installment of Dr. Electro below, and…the Nighthawk. This week marks 33 weeks since I read about the State of New York sending lonely old folks robots to talk to.
What?!
Not while I can write. If people are intent on building a dystopian future, I’m doubly committed to doing something to counteract it. So, I started The Nighthawk as a way to connect people through words and conversation. It just went out to 29 assisted living communities.
Dr. Electro is the back page of the paper. Might as well start posting the whole thing here, too. I’ve got a call in to my computer wiz brothers to figure out how to do this properly, but in the meantime, dig the photos, and the downloadable .pdf. For my blind friends - does the downloadable .pdf suffice, or is that lame? Let me know - figuring it out as I go along over here.
Dr. Electro in Plain Text
Letters from Josh
(A weekly update from Josh Urban’s adventures on the farm and in the city. #118)
Howdy, folks! Previously on our whimsical tale, Dr. Electro is flustered by the striking appearance of the Buckle Bunny Gang. He tries to use his manners to diffuse the crisis of being held at gunpoint, by angry women, on a moving train. To the east, Lady Wilkes captures two intruders, marching them inside. “Claire, wake up! We’ve got company.” Her niece appeared, rubbing her eyes. Claire’s voice cracked. “John?” This is....
The Return of Dr. Electro - #13: Spring & Sprung
On the best of spring days, when the air was scented with hyacinth blooms and ephemeral optimism, Lady Wilkes wasn’t to be trifled with. Here in the opposite setting, her day - or cold autumn night - was made. She waved the .44, frosty silver in the moonlight. “You interrupted my evening tea, punks. Looks like you’ll be joining me now. Won’t you come in?”
The two men glumly complied. Claire, pale as her robe, followed. “John, I...I thought you were gone - headed to London or something. At least that’s what you told me.”
The taller man drooped his head into his red beard. “I say, lassie, ain’t what it appears.”
“Well it appears that you gents won’t be going anywhere for a while. My rope, Claire. Be a dear and fetch it. It’s in the cabinet next to the beekeeping equipment.”
***
To the not as distant West, Electro tried to focus. Words, man. Use them wisely. Now is not the time for puns or what’s a nice girl like YOU lines. You’ll get shot. “Ma’am, we’ve never heard of your missing Jim, but about these jewel thieves...Perhaps we could help. We’ve got some serious talent on board. Why, Preacher will even say a prayer for us!”
“Amen, brother!” Preacher fished a bible out from under his coat and flicked a match. Shadows fled as he started “I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living. Psalm 27:13. You see, it’s a call to...”
Beatrice kicked him with a white boot. He retreated, muttering about prophets and hometowns. Charlotte refused to lower her gun.
“We need answers, of an earthly sort. I’ll do the seeking. A reference would help. I don’t get why you guys are out here in the first place.”
“I reckon I could lend assistance.” Walter, missing since sheltering at the warehouse, had entered the boxcar so quietly nobody had noticed. “Whoa, whoa, don’t shoot, it’s me, ladies.” Three sets of arms whirled, recognized...relaxed. Three barrels finally pointed down.
“Walter, you old scoundrel! I didn’t know you were out of jail.” Charlotte finally let herself laugh. Just as suddenly, she stopped. “Wait, why is the train slowing down? We’re still ten miles from Chicago.”
....To be continued.